Achan blinked at the pile of black braids pinned to the top of Jaira's head. It seemed an eternity before he could fathom how to respond, and when he did, he barely managed a whisper. "Not at all, my lady. Think on it no more and enjoy your evening. I've heard Lord Eli is a tremendous host. Please, rise and tell me if the rumor is true."
Sir Caleb's voice invaded his mind again. Well said, Your Highness. You're your father's son after all.
His insides coiled, but he offered his hand. He was slightly humbled at how she'd humiliated herself, but he still didn't trust her a hair. Now, if she were to treat Sparrow kindly with no witnesses present, he might believe her claim of having grown.
Jaira slipped her black-gloved hand in his. It felt oily. She smelled strongly of a spice he couldn't recognize, as if she'd bathed in the scent. He tried to pull her up, but her skirt had tangled under her knees. She gathered the layers of blue fabric in one hand and tugged. With a yelp she went down again. Achan caught her waist and lifted her to her feet. She stood in his arms, looking up into his eyes, cheeks flushed maroon.
She did that on purpose, you know.
Achan released Jaira and glanced over her head to meet Sparrow's eyes. The boy stood at the foot of the stairs, arms crossed, leaning against a fluted pillar. The smirk on his round face said it all.
You can hear me, Achan said. Why didn't you answer before?
She is such the actress. What performance will she give next? Perhaps the tale of the princess who wins the heart of the young prince.
Funny. I'd like to see you play my role. Sir Caleb put oil in my hair. This isn't exactly fun.
Oh, yes. It does look dreadful to have beautiful women literally throwing themselves at your feet. How ever do you manage?
Jaira pressed a hand over the black stone on her chest. "Thank you, Your Highness. The things a woman must wear to be beautiful. I'm afraid they can be a hindrance."
And now she fishes for compliments. Well? Go on then. You must oblige. It is only polite.
You're such a boil, Sparrow. Achan forced a smile. "They're more than worth the trouble, my lady, I assure you." He met Sparrow's eyes one last time. Happy?
Quite.
"We shall feast in my personal dining room," Lord Eli said. "It is more intimate than the great hall." He offered one arm to his wife, his other to Queen Hamartano, and led them through a set of painted doors as high as the vaulted ceiling. "Bring your men, Sir Gavin, Dinner is served."
Achan steeled himself and offered his arm to Mandzee, because she was older and Sir Gavin had taught him that was proper. Mandzee smiled and accepted his arm. Achan offered Jaira his other arm. She blinked her dark eyes slowly, then slid her fingers around his bicep.
He swallowed his angst and followed Lord Eli through a set of glass double doors into a narrow room, hoping he didn't trip on the gowns trailing alongside his boots.
Talking with Sparrow had lightened his mood a great deal.
A long table draped with white linen was set for twelve-five on each side and one on each end-with gold goblets, matching trenchers, bouquets of silk irises, and purple linen napkins. Two large candelabras hung from the ceiling. A painting of Lord Eli and Lady Katiolakan covered the right wall. Another set of double doors divided the left wall. A life-sized statue of Lord Eli stood behind the head of the table.
Lord Eli helped his wife sit at the end of the table and settled Queen Hamartano to her right. He moved to the head of the table and stood behind the chair, his own statue looming behind him like a shadow.
"My servants have set nameplates at the table," Lord Eli said. "Please take a moment to find your seat."
Achan released the ladies' arms. "Princess Mandzee Hamartano" was painted in purple ink on the small, white marble scroll to Lady Katiolakan's left. Next came Sir Gavin's name, Sir Caleb's, then Jaira's.
"Your Highness." Jaira stood before her nameplate. "Look, you're here beside me."
Heat coursed through Achan at the sound of her voice addressing him in such a way. Sir Caleb's hand on his back prodded him down the left side of the table. "Prince Gidon Hadar" painted in purple script marked his place to the right of Lord Eli and the left of Princess Jaira. Of course he'd be seated beside the host. Where else?
Sparrow stood dead center on the opposite side of the table. Good. At least Achan could make private jokes with his friend. He might not survive this evening without them.
Achan pulled out his chair and sat, ignoring Sir Caleb's glare, not caring whether decorum dictated he should wait until the women sat or pull out their chairs and fawn over them with flowery compliments. They could seat themselves.
A thin woman with sallow skin took the seat across from him. She wore a blood-red velvet robe over a black gown that bunched around her neck and up to her chin. Her gaunt face paled next to such vivid colors. Her cheeks caved in like she was sucking a lemon and her bloodshot eyes bulged in deep sockets ringed with dark circles.
A priest of Avenis with a stiff, ivory teardrop hat took the seat beside her. He wore an ivory robe with thick, rolled cuffs. At least ten gold chains in various girths and lengths hung around his fat neck. One long brown eyebrow stretched across his wide, flat forehead like a caterpillar. His eyes were small and fixed on Achan.
It had been days of dried meat and figs, and prison gruel for weeks before that, except for Sparrow's apples. His stomach growled at the idea of fresh, hot food.
Sir Caleb helped seat Jaira to Achan's left. Her spicy smell snaked up his nose, making his eyes water. She scooted closer to the table and her arm touched his. He froze a moment, then casually leaned away, reaching for his nameplate with his right hand. He pretended to examine it a moment, then put it back, careful to shift his weight so he no longer touched Jaira.
A tall and muscular, olive-skinned eunuch with a shaved head entered the room carrying a lidded basket. His eyes were outlined in black, similar to Jaira's. A maroon skirt fell to his sandaled feet, held in place by leather straps that crisscrossed over his bare chest and supported a sword at his waist as well. Achan recalled Jaelport employed eunuchs like slaves. This man must work for the Hamartano family. A shield, perhaps?
The eunuch stopped between Sir Caleb and Jaira and held the basket aloft.
"Finally, Larkos," Jaira said to the eunuch. She lifted the lid, and her tiny, hairless dog scuttled out of the basket and curled in a ball on her lap, tail wagging. Charcoal skin stretched over the dog's bony frame. Its huge ears reminded Achan of a bat.
Larkos backed against the double doors behind Jaira. The priest still stared at Achan from across the table, unfazed by the eunuch and bat-dog. Achan met Sparrow's curious gaze and said, Having fun?
Your discomfort is quite entertaining, yes.
Happy to help.
Do you like your seat?
Oh, I dream of torturous moments like these. Do you think it would be rude if I asked Lord Eli to open the doors to get a bit of a draft? If I don't get some fresh air, I may black out from the smell of the princess.
I do not think they have fresh air in Darkness.
Can't you smell her?
It is a bit strong.
What is it?
My guess would be a tropical lotion. Do you like the flakes of gold?